


Future Imperfect

by Daegaer



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Precognition, Psychic Abilities, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-23 18:48:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1575794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally written for Indelicateink's <a href="http://indelicateink.livejournal.com/360736.html">drive-by pocket-sized four-day challenge</a>, for the prompt: an AU in which telepaths age into precognitives when they hit their mid-to-late 20s. Crawford is an insufferable mentor and Schuldig has growing pains.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Future Imperfect

**Author's Note:**

  * For [indelicateink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indelicateink/gifts).



Crawford slid the pill bottle across the table and went back to the Sunday sports supplement, mentally counting the seconds before -

"What’s that for?"

"Your headache."

Schuldig’s hand came down on the paper, giving Crawford a good view of his suspicious, irritated face. 

"I don’t have one - am I _going_ to have one?"

Crawford folded his paper and looked at him calmly. "You tell me. Don’t read my mind."

Schuldig glared, and took a long gulp of his coffee. "This is such bullshit. Fine." He closed his eyes, his face tight in concentration. Crawford watched him; he kept his own thoughts calm and still. He had no doubt Schuldig was rifling through his mind for information. 

"Anything?" he asked at last.

"No," Schuldig said in frustration. "Are you just jerking me round, Crawford? Because it’s really hilarious if you are, you’re a natural comedian, now can we just get on with our day?"

"It’s all part of your training," Crawford said. "You’ve got to learn to accept even the slightest hints of the future and weave them into a coherent narrative."

"I don’t want to," Schuldig muttered. "I’m happy being a telepath - tell everyone I’ll stick with that, OK?"

Crawford grinned. "Yeah, we all said that. Take one of these." He pushed the bottle closer.

Schuldig sighed. "Your _coherent narrative_ tells you I’ll need aspirin - wonderful." He looked closer. "What _is_ this, Crawford?"

"An anti-epileptic - it’s used for controlling migraines as well. You’ve been given it before, in Rosenkreuz, though they wouldn’t have bothered telling you what it was. One every morning and evening, until I say otherwise."

"Now you’re a doctor," Schuldig said, looking at the pills in annoyance.

"I’m someone who’s gone through this," Crawford said. "Do yourself a favour and learn from my experience."

Schuldig pursed his lips, then unscrewed the lid and shook one out of the tiny, yellow pills. He washed it down with his coffee and stole the sports supplement. "You don't even like football," he said, in petty, vindictive victory.

Crawford smiled thinly and allowed him the moment of pleasure. It was hard when your ability changed, and Schuldig was as unhappy as most people at the onrushing loss of his telepathy. Precognition seemed like a poor substitute, Crawford knew. He'd felt that way himself, had raged over what had seemed like the world gone silent and dull. There was nothing anyone could do - telepathy was a young person's ability; children and teenagers had it full-strength and then, suddenly, it flared up - and faded. Schuldig's had suddenly become stronger; he had a few months left at most and then, like everyone, would be left with slowly strengthening precognition. No one knew how strong their precognition would be – it was, ironically, something no one could predict; strong telepaths might be left with mere hunches about the course of the future, weak ones might have such strong visions they would end up raving and insane. Crawford had been lucky; a mediocre telepath at best, his precognition was near-future but reliable. He hoped Schuldig would be lucky too - he'd get a bonus for a safely-transitioned and usable precog.

Schuldig had taken a second dose of the medication and a high dose of painkillers by the time the first strong vision hit him, so Crawford just got him wrapped up warm and lying in his darkened room. Some people thought the fading telepathy should be allowed just burn itself out to leave space for the precognition, and be damned to what damage it left in its wake, but the precog who'd got Crawford through this had dosed _him_ up on anti-epileptics and painkillers and it had worked just fine. It was certainly an experiment worth repeating although nobody could call this an exact science.

"What do you mean, it's not an exact science?" Schuldig whispered.

"Shh," Crawford said. "Rest."

"I don't want this," Schuldig said. He sounded young, and scared. "I don't."

"I know," Crawford said. "Go to sleep. We'll make sense of what you saw tomorrow."

"Suppose I can't remember?" Schuldig said, beginning to drift off.

"I know you will. I can see the future," Crawford said, amused. He waited until Schuldig had fallen into an uneasy, fractious doze, and slipped out. _You will too_ , he thought. _You will too._


End file.
